


Go Ahead and Taste It (You Don't Want to Waste It)

by vvvvv



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Charles You Slut, Cherik - Freeform, Gay Mutant Road Trip, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Psychic Abilities, Rimming, seriously it just turns into one hundred percent feelings in the end, slight psychic manipulation, somewhat dubcon elements, woops I didn't mean for there to be all these feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-12
Updated: 2014-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-12 02:23:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1180787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vvvvv/pseuds/vvvvv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik cannot stop thinking about Charles' ass. It becomes a serious problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Go Ahead and Taste It (You Don't Want to Waste It)

**Author's Note:**

> I was talking to a friend about a month ago when she said she just wanted to read a Cherik fic where Erik wants to fuck Charles but thinks he shouldn't, so Charles just waves his ass around until Erik can't take it anymore. So I decided I would write one.
> 
> It's kind of all over the place. I've never written about these two before (even though omg the greatest love of allll), and I accidentally had to have some feelings. But I really enjoyed writing it!
> 
> Fic title is a line from the song "Forbidden Fruit" by Nina Simone. (I like to imagine them listening to her.)
> 
> Unbetaed, so I apologize if there's anything really wonky in here.

Charles moans as Erik hungrily grabs at his ass, spreading his gloriously round cheeks apart and licking a stripe up from just behind his balls to his tailbone. Erik hums, dipping back down to tongue at Charles, fingers digging into firm pale flesh. It occurs to him that he could do this for hours-- just lick and suck and squeeze, bury his face deep in the earthy comforting warm smell of Charles. Charles who is wonderfully enthusiastic and trusting and kind. Charles whose body is soft and firm and endlessly touchable. Charles who is alternating between pleasant sighs and absolutely wrecked whines, pressing back against Erik’s face, bent over the motel bed. Charles who is fucking magnificent.

Erik wakes up hard and leaking. He’s almost through the bathroom door of their motel room when he notices that Charles’ breathing is wrong. He’s only pretending to be asleep.

And the redness on his face could only be described as a blush. Fuck. 

Erik’s subsequent orgasm is nothing to write home about. It’s fast and efficient, the hot water quickly washing it down the drain. Charles is very good looking and a telepath. Erik is sure this sort of thing happens all the time. Nothing to be embarrassed about. A perfectly natural reaction to being in such close quarters.

When Erik steps out back into the room, a towel tied firmly around his hips, Charles looks at him from under hooded lids. Exhaustion, Erik tells himself, not arousal.

Neither of them brings it up and they fall back into their easy routine. And it’s just like it was before--almost. Maybe it’s just in Erik’s imagination, but he could swear Charles is smiling at him more.

Erik is dreaming about Charles again. Hooking his arms around Charles’ hips and hugging the man’s ass against his face, tongue opening Charles’ hole. Charles naked on his hands and knees, crying out “Erik!” as Erik just _presses_ , rubbing his face against Charles like a cat, teasing him with the tip of his nose, lips and tongue working at the sensitive pink skin, slurping wet and messy and completely undignified before thrusting his tongue inside. Charles begging Erik to touch his cock, hanging hard and dripping precome beneath him. Erik reaches around and barely brushes his fingertips against it before Charles is letting out a loud whine, coming hard and fast, hips stuttering and muscles clenching.

And Erik wakes up stuck to his sheets. The early morning light peeks in past the blackout curtains, and Erik can hear the shower going in the bathroom. He quickly cleans himself off with an undershirt and stuffs it in the bottom of his bag.

The next motel has a washer and dryer, so Charles offers to do their laundry. Erik grunts out a thank you, focused on reading the information Cerebro spat out, looking at their road map and plotting out a route. Charles returns a couple of hours later with their clothes and a pink cardboard box. “Erik! I got donuts! They’re quite good. I’ve already sampled one.” Erik looks up, pencil in his mouth, and promptly drops the pencil, the map, and anything else he may have been holding.

“Ch-charles? What happened to your trousers!?” Erik can’t figure out where to look, because Charles is wearing a familiar looking pair of grey wool trousers, except they are now skin tight.

“They may have shrunk a tiny bit in the wash.” Charles blushes sheepishly, turning his back to Erik and then craning his neck around to inspect the fit. “They aren’t that bad, are they?” Erik can feel his heart rate increasing, blood rising to his face and pooling in his groin. Charles looks delectable. The fabric is stretched tight, clinging to his ass for dear life, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. Bad? They’re positively mouthwatering--

“For God’s sake Charles,” Erik barks, trying to get ahold of himself, “change into a different pair!”

Charles casually bends over and reaches into the pink box for a donut. “The others are tighter,” he says as if this isn’t an enormous catastrophe. He reclines on the bed and bites into his donut, ass thankfully no longer facing Erik. Erik allows himself a glance down now to examine the fit, which maybe isn’t so bad after a-- oh no it’s so much worse. 

Erik clears his throat, shifting in his chair to try to hide his rapidly hardening dick. “Um...Charles…” Pained and embarrassed, he gestures to the front of Charles’ trousers.

Charles looks down, popping the last piece of donut into his mouth. “Oh!” He licks the powdered sugar off of his fingers, sucking each one individually while looking at the very, very, very visible outline of his cock. Erik grips the arms of his chair and tries to focus on counting how many different kinds of metal there are in the room. “Erik? Erik look at me.” Charles is standing now. “Can you still see it?”

The next thirty minutes consist of Charles testing cock outline visibility with different jackets and coats, at different distances and stances, turning around every minute or so to bend over and readjust himself. Each time he turns back and asks, wide-eyed and innocent, “Can you see it now?” (The answer is invariably yes.) They are the most mortifyingly arousing thirty minutes of Erik’s life. He just sits there, white knuckled and hard, breathing heavily through his nose and choking out yeses when prompted. 

He has to stop focusing on the metal in the room when he arrives at Charles’ zipper.

“Are you sure the other pair is worse?” Erik can’t imagine how they could be. But then, Charles does have a knack for proving him wrong. The others are so tight that Charles needs to lie down on the bed to zip up. When he stands, not only is his cock perfectly visible, but the waistband hits him mid-hip, digging in sharply and causing a small amount of flesh to spill out over the top, not a lot, but just enough for Erik to be able to pull at with his teeth. Potentially. If he chose to. Which he most certainly does not, regardless of how tempting it is.

And it is very, very, very tempting.

They decide on the grey wool, and Erik insists that they prioritize finding Charles new clothes as soon as possible. Charles is inexplicably nonplussed, walking to the adjoining diner as if nothing is wrong, unphased by the very hungry glances (and probably very loud thoughts) of various locals. Erik reacts enough for the both of them, forcing himself to suppress possessive growls.

After depositing Charles back in the room, Erik takes a walk to try (and fail) to clear his mind. He returns to find Charles wearing only tight briefs, toweling off his hair. “Chess Erik?”

Erik accepts, but, much to his chagrin, they end up playing on Charles’ bed. And Charles does not get dressed. He lies on his stomach, feet kicking unconsciously as he thinks. He looks up at Erik periodically from under thick lovely lashes, smirking mischievously. Charles wouldn’t need to use telepathy to know that Erik was absurdly aroused, barely keeping it together. Why on earth was he doing this unless-- oh. And the thing is, Erik would, he absolutely would. There’s a part of him that wants to throw caution to the wind and just _take_. But, he’s making enough of an exception as it is with this friendship, this attachment. He can’t afford to make Charles even more of a distraction from getting Schmidt-- Shaw-- than he already is. 

“We should get some sleep,” Erik pronounces. Charles’ disappointment is subtle, but it’s there. His red lips pouting slightly before assenting and packing the board away. Erik brushes his teeth and tries to focus on something that isn’t Charles, but his mind refuses to cooperate. Every time he successfully fights off an image (Charles’ mouth) or a fantasy (Charles’ mouth moaning sinfully around Erik’s cock), it’s replaced by something even more obscene.There’s Charles fingering himself, legs in the air. Then it’s Charles naked and bent over Erik’s knee, keening as Erik spanks his ass red. Erik entering Charles from every conceivable angle, each time shocked at how tight and hot and slick and soft and perfect he feels. Charles riding him slow and sensuous. Charles riding him hard and fast. Charles on his hands and knees, begging for it as Erik slams into him over and over and over again. “Mein Gott Charles…”

Erik doesn’t realize that he’s been grinding the heel of his hand against his cock through his briefs until it’s too late. He takes off the wet underwear and cleans himself off quickly before putting his pajama pants on. His t-shirt is wet as well, covered in the toothpaste he must have drooled out of his mouth. Erik washes the offending stains off of both garments and leaves them to dry overnight in the shower. He looks down somewhat self consciously before stepping back out into the room. Even flaccid, his cock is very visible in the sleep pants. Hopefully Charles has gone to sleep.

Of course, Charles has not. He just looks up from his book and smiles cheerfully. He doesn’t stare, but Erik watches those big blue eyes looking him up and down and feels a wave of arousal that is not his own. But Charles just says good night. That night Erik dreams of heavy lidded blue eyes dark with need. He dreams of mouthing over freckled shoulders, thick fingers twisted in his hair. A tongue warm and sweet and wet and clever in his mouth. Teeth nipping at his lips, his ears. He dreams of satisfied rumbles, soft laughter, sighs of pleasure, his own name-- all in that warm familiar voice. As the previous fantasies of Charles are frantic and maddening, this dream is soothing and comfortable. Erik feels safe in dream-Charles’ arms.

Charles turns his nose up at the small town clothing stores that Erik tries to get him to go into, opting instead to project into the minds of everyone around them that his pants are not obscenely tight-- everyone EXCEPT Erik, that is. It’s impossible to concentrate on anything other than Charles, who invades all of his thoughts. Erik’s increasingly vivid fantasies refuse to be pushed to the back of his mind, so he spends most of their time on the road rock hard and desperately trying to just drive in a straight line. 

After about a week of this, Erik is masturbating in a gas station lavatory in the middle of Arizona at 9:30 in the morning. It’s cold and dark and damp and smells of piss, and he doesn’t care. His jaw is sore from clenching it in frustration, his lips are bitten up and his cock is chafed from wanking too roughly and frequently. This is what he has been reduced to-- some kind of goddamned animal who desperately fucks his own spit slicked fist at any opportunity. Erik steps outside, blushing furiously at Charles’ knowing smile, when it dawns on him. He gets back behind the wheel, seething, and drives the car to the nearest motel rather than back to the highway. Charles furrows his brow in concern, “What’s the matter my friend?”

“Stay in the car,” Erik growls through his teeth, slamming the door and walking briskly to the front office. He’s barely gone five minutes before he’s back, pulling Charles out of the car and dragging him to their room, pushing him inside and slamming the door behind them. Erik is breathing fast, nostrils flaring, feeling absolutely furious. “You’ve been doing this. You’ve been doing this to me ON PURPOSE. I thought I was going out of my mind, but it was just you in my head, pulling my strings like a fucking PUPPET, Charles,” he spits out. “I am not your plaything.”

“Oh Erik,” Charles smiles sadly, “I just pulled to the surface what was already there.” He moves towards Erik, putting a large hand on the taller man’s shoulder and looking up at him. “You deny yourself too much. I promise tha--mmf!” Charles is interrupted by Erik’s mouth on his, rough and greedy and demanding. Erik’s hands find Charles’ hips, his tongue invading Charles’ mouth (which tastes not unpleasantly like cheap coffee and maple syrup.) He pinches the little roll of flesh that spills over Charles’ shrunken waistband before moving his hands lower to the ass that has ruined his life. As he digs his fingers into the deliciously firm flesh, Erik decides it was worth it. He breaks the kiss to gasp in a breath. Charles takes the opportunity to kiss up Erik’s neck, resting at his ear. “Well, is it as good as you imagined?”

“ _Besser_.” Erik is pretty sure his mind is broken. He has regressed to something almost completely primal, but not quite to the point that he doesn’t want to wipe the self-satisfied smirk off of Charles’ face. He spins Charles around, grabbing him by the hair and forcibly bending him over the bed. _RIIIIIIIIIP!_ And there go Charles’ trousers, the seam on the seat finally defeated. Erik’s fingers fly to the new opening, caressing Charles’ ass through his pants briefly before roughly divesting him of everything between himself and his long awaited prize. And there it is. Finally. Erik attacks Charles’ asshole like a starving man, licking and sucking and kissing, squeezing Charles’ cheeks together against his face, and it’s perfect. Charles tastes like ivory soap, cheap detergent and too long car rides, but also musky and alive, like sweat and warmth and secrets, the heat of him on Erik’s mouth indescribably good. “ _Am besten_ ,” he mutters to himself, smacking his lips before diving back in.

“Erik,” Charles groans out between ragged breaths, but can’t make out the rest of his sentence, just moaning and grinding his hips backwards. And then Erik can hear Charles in his head. In the water, Charles’ mind had been commanding and in control, impressive and authoritative, deliberate and focused on delivering a specific message. Now it is more abstract, further away from verbal language and closer to pure thought. It’s like a symphony of feeling being piped into Erik’s head. A whine of need, a hum of satisfaction, a lazy sigh of submission, a floaty sense of wonder, and then there’s Charles’ particular brand of desire, curling voluptuously like smoke. Each element layers upon the others, ebbing and flowing harmoniously, as more specific thoughts and impressions fade in and out-- things like “wonderful” and “so ravenous, God!” and “FUCK” and a never-ending throbbing ache that just means “Erik.” 

Erik’s salivary glands are going into overdrive, and he’s slobbering like a dog, his whole face wet with it, sliding against Charles and slurping messily at his entrance. His lips are sore and his tongue is tired, but it’s too good to stop. He’s waited too damn long for this, and Charles is crying out with both mind and mouth, begging for it gorgeously. So after swirling his tongue around a few more times, Erik nudges it against Charles’ pucker and wiggles inside. Charles’ hole yields to him eagerly, rapidly loosening around Erik’s wet slippery tongue. Erik just wants to burrow into Charles’ ass and probe deeper, wants to follow the heat straight to his core, but his tongue is only so long. Instead Erik relishes the earthy musk overwhelming his nose and taste buds, the way he can feel Charles’ muscles tensing and relaxing around him, the sound of hitched breaths and creaking bedsprings, how Charles’ skin is softer than it has any right to be.

“Please!” Charles manages to cry out, and Erik doesn’t move his face, doesn’t stop fucking Charles with his tongue, just snakes a hand around and finds his cock, gliding the foreskin up and down his shaft. When Erik feels the telltale tensing of Charles’ body, he stills his tongue and sucks at Charles’ sensitive rim, jerking him through it, feeling the muscles contracting around his tongue. Charles grinds his hips against Erik’s face in serpentine motions, quaking all over as he comes. Then he collapses onto the bed, twitching and gasping for breath. Erik gives Charles’ ass a few more licks before finally pulling away. He’s about to wipe the spit off of his face when Charles twists around and pulls Erik’s face to his, licking his own taste off of Erik’s lips, which is filthy and hot, and makes Erik even harder. Still trembling, Charles sucks on Erik’s tongue and hums happily. Erik breaks the kiss and smiles. Charles is a vision-- wide eyes unfocused and blissed out, creamy freckled skin flushed pink all over, usually tidy hair a mess, red lips swollen from biting, ass still in the air.

“Just stay exactly like that,” Erik says, climbing onto the bed and straddling Charles’ legs. He licks his palm and starts to pull on his cock, knowing it won’t take long, not with Charles looking over his shoulder like that, the taste of him still in Erik’s mouth. Erik is finally letting himself look as long and hard as he wants, and Charles is preening like a sleepy peacock under his heated gaze.

“Well my friend? I was clearly right in tormenting you,” Charles teases with a yawn and a warm grin.

Erik can’t help but smile back, narrowing his eyes and breathing fast. “You’re a nuisance Charles Xavier.” 

Charles widens his eyes in fake shock. 

“Yes,” Erik continues, breath hitching, “a dangerous mutant who abuses his power to lure nice Jewish boys into lives of depraved hedonism.” He rubs his thumb over his slit and he can’t stop his head from falling back as he gasps in pleasure. When he opens his eyes, Erik sees that Charles is looking him up and down hungrily. His orgasm is fast approaching, the build making him feel frantic and anxious for release, whole body throbbing with needneedneed.

“Come for me Erik.” Charles looks up at him with such genuine affection it takes Erik’s breath away. “Come for me love.” He comes long stripes across Charles’ back and ass, unable to resist thinking “mine mine mine” as he does. He starts to back off the bed, but gives up and collapses, using Charles’ ass as a pillow.

“Mmmmm,” he groans happily, rubbing his face against it, kissing Charles lightly along his crack, nipping at soft skin. Charles sends him waves of amused warmth, reaching back to card his fingers through Erik’s hair. They doze most of the morning away like that. At some point Charles wiggles out from under Erik and showers. When he comes back, they kiss lazily, Charles’ wet hair dripping water onto Erik’s face. 

This time when the image of Charles sucking him off pops into Erik’s head, he takes it for what it is: an offer. Charles wraps his mouth around Erik’s cock and sucks him down slowly. He looks up through his eyelashes at Erik and reaches back to start fingering himself. His thoughts echoing in Erik’s mind.

 _“Can you hear that? Can you hear how wet I am Erik?”_ He must have started working himself open in the shower.

Heat rushes to Erik’s face. “Charles, it’s positively criminal to talk me off and suck me off at the same time.” But he still listens for the sound, and there it is, the squelch of fingers moving in and out of a wet hole. And not just any hole, but _Charles’_ hole, soaked with lube and (Erik hopes) the remnants of his spit. It’s obscene and perfect, and the way Charles is bobbing his head up and down, looking right into Erik’s eyes is pure sin. And God, Charles’ mouth. Erik could spend the rest of his life writing poems to Charles’ mouth and still never do it justice. Wet and warm and so, so soft. Charles’ clever tongue undulating against Erik’s frenulum, teasing at his slit, plush and luxurious and perfect. 

 _“I’ve wanted this for so long Erik. I’m sorry I was manipulative, I truly am. But you made me so desperate…”_ Charles starts to share his sensations with Erik. Erik doesn’t taste himself as much as he feels how good he tastes to Charles, doesn’t feel penetrated as much as he feels the little jolt of pleasure every time Charles brushes against his own prostate. Distantly, Erik marvels that Charles is able to finger himself, suck him off and feed their psychic link all at the same time, but then Charles takes him down to the root and _swallows_ , and Erik’s brain turns to mush. _“Your cock is a work of art-- do you want to fuck me Erik? I want you to fuck me.”_

Yes Erik wants to. He doesn’t just want to fuck Charles, he wants to bury himself in the man. He wants to be subsumed. Charles slides his mouth back up, sucking on the head of Erik’s cock before releasing it, and gets on his hands and knees, handing Erik the jar of lube he had been using.

Erik gets up and slicks his cock, positioning himself behind Charles, but finding himself confronted with Charles’ ass once more, he quickly bends down to rub his mouth against it, letting his hands grab at Charles’ thick muscular thighs. Charles whines impatiently until Erik lines himself up and pushes in. Charles’ hands clutch at the bedspread and he breathes deep, trying to keep his body calm. Running a hand reassuringly up and down Charles’ back, Erik murmurs, “you feel wonderful Charles. So beautiful the way you’re opening up for me.” He can feel Charles’ presence in his mind, and Charles must agree with Erik’s assessment, because he lets out a throaty moan. He’s so tight around Erik’s impressive girth. “Never seen anything as gorgeous as you stretched around me. Taking it so well…”

“Oh God Erik,” Charles whines when Erik brushes against prostate. He tries to thrust his hips backwards but Erik stops him. Erik sinks into Charles slowly and excruciatingly, thwarting Charles’ various efforts to speed things up. Shushing Charles, who squirms and whines in frustration, petting him like he would a spooked animal. (Although he does smile inwardly at the petulant desperation coming off of Charles in waves.) “Finally,” Charles groans when Erik is fully sheathed inside of him.

“I don’t see why I should fuck you Charles if you’re going to be such a brat about it,” Erik teases.

“I wouldn’t be bratty if you were fucking me properly, my friend,” Charles shoots back, words slightly undercut by his haggard breath. So Erik pulls almost all the way out before slamming back in, snaking his hand around to wrap his fingers around Charles’ throat, and that shuts him right up. Erik doesn’t grab or squeeze, just puts enough pressure on it to make his presence known. The muscles in Charles’ ass contract at the touch, and Erik smiles like a shark, snapping his hips as he pounds Charles into the mattress. He would actually be alarmed at how silent and still Charles has gotten, except for the fact that Charles’ entire consciousness seems to be crying out _“YES”_ in primal ecstasy.

“Is. This. Acceptable. Charles,” Erik growls through clenched teeth, punctuating each word by slamming his cock deep into Charles’ tight heat. “Is. This. What. You. Wanted?” Charles answers by arching into it, mouth open wide in a gasp. _“Was this the plan Charles? Tease me until I’m so drunk on lust that I just throw you over my shoulder like some fucking caveman?”_ Charles’ eyes are wide as Erik’s thoughts fill his head. _“Under that posh accent and fucking doctorate, all you really want is for some brute to hold you down and fuck you like a common whore? Is that right Charles?_ ”

Charles doesn’t speak. Doesn’t even mold his thoughts into words. Instead, Erik’s mind is filled with fragments of images and emotions, hundreds of little impressions that make up “Erik” for Charles. And Charles’ Erik is not a brute or a monster. Charles’ Erik is powerful and clever, his anger is there, but so is his love, his fierce protectiveness over the mutants they find, his unforgiving demand that people meet his high ethical standards. Charles’ Erik _feels_ everything so strongly. It makes Erik’s chest ache, seeing all of his own unconscious smiles, every time his mask has slipped in Charles’ presence-- seeing his own _Menschlichkeit_. And all of it is tinged with such affection, such _fond optimism_. Erik doesn’t even notice tears falling from his eyes until he tastes the salt on his tongue, because the cognitive dissonance is too much. How can Charles’ truth be so far from his own? How can Charles know him, _truly_ know him, and still see him this way?

“Erik, I could get any attractive man to fuck me roughly. I want you because you’re you. Because I’ve _seen you_.” Erik has stilled his thrusts, feeling raw and vulnerable. Charles lifts a hand and cups Erik’s face, kissing him deeply, wrapping him up in tendrils of comfort and warmth. And then he’s on his back with Charles straddling him, maneuvering his cock and sinking down onto it with a soft groan. “I just want you to love me as much as you hate _them_.”

Charles envelops him-- his ass tight and warm and sweet around Erik’s cock, steady presence in Erik’s mind wrapping him up in kindness and heat and trust and hunger. All Erik can feel is that warmth that pulled him out of the water and kept him from running away. Erik is drowning in Charles and he can finally breathe because he’s safe wrapped up tight in a thousand lecherous promises whispered by swollen red lips. Wrapped up in blinding optimism for their future. Wrapped up in flushed freckled skin tacky with sweat and come. 

Can Erik love as fiercely as he hates?

The way Charles looks into his eyes with unwavering faith, grinding down on his cock, spurting semen onto his chest with a filthy moan, makes Erik feel simultaneously debauched and exalted. And for the first time he thinks yes, maybe he can.

**Author's Note:**

> so yeah SOMEONE has spent a lot of time looking at fassbender and mcavoy's dick outlines. it's me. I am that person.
> 
> I'm on tumblr! be my friend! [shortshortsmagneto.tumblr.com](http://shortshortsmagneto.tumblr.com/)


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